A Book and That Thing in Your Pocket
by With-the-Wolves
Summary: Will finds a book titled "How to become Sherlock Holmes: A Step-by-Step Guide." He didn't realize the title was so literal. Now he has to work his way through the TV show Sherlock guided by the book and a strange object he finds in his pocket.
1. Prologue

**So, *claps* new story. Pretty much, I just wanted to write something Sherlock-ey because we're sort of in the middle/finished with series 3. And Ranger's Apprentice was here, as always, for crossover material.**

**SuperHappyMegaAmazingUpload Day Tally: 7**

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><p>Prologue<p>

"Horace, guess what?" Will yelled as he appeared out of nowhere behind his friend.

Horace jumped and turned around. "You have to stop doing that, Will!"

"I can use my Ranger training however I like!" Will said. "And guess what?"

Horace rolled his eyes. "What?"

"_I'm_ going to become Sherlock Holmes."

"What?"

"I got this book," Will said, conjuring the book out of nowhere. "And I'm going to use it to become Sherlock Holmes."

Horace looked at the book. _How to become Sherlock Holmes: A Step-by-Step Guide_. Oh god. "So…You're going to follow all of the steps—"

"And I'll become Sherlock Holmes!" Will said as he opened the book to the first page.


	2. Steps 1-20

**So the first twenty steps are just randomness...After this, it turns into an actual story.**

**SuperHappyMegaAmazingUpload Day Tally: 8**

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><p><strong>Step 1: Be Smart<strong>

"Step one: Be smart." Will read aloud.

Horace laughed. "You've already failed."

"Shut up, Horace."

**Step 2: Be Tall**

"Step two: Be tall." Will read.

Horace laughed again. "This doesn't seem to going too well for you."

"Shh! There's a step 2B!"

**Step 2B: Have a Short Friend**

"Step two-b: Have a short friend." Will was silent for a moment, looking at Horace. He shook his head. "Go get George." He said finally.

"No! George is busy! Besides, you're both the same height!"

"It doesn't say they have to be shorter, just that they have to be short."

**Step 3: Notice Things**

"Step three: Notice things." Will stared at Horace for a moment, before looking back at the book and smiling. "Step three completed!"

Horace face-palmed.

**Step 4: Wear a Trench coat Always**

"Step four: Wear a trench coat always…"Will frowned and looked at his cloak. He shrugged. "A cloak counts."

"That's cheating!" Horace said.

**Step 5: Have an Annoying Older Brother**

"Step five: Have an annoying older brother…Horace, you're my brother, right?"

"No. And I'm _not_ annoying."

"Well, what the book doesn't know won't hurt it."

**Step 6: Live at 221B Baker Street**

"Step six: Live at 221B Baker Street." Will was silent for a moment.

"I suppose you're going to move, then?" Horace said sarcastically.

"Of course not." Will said. "I already live at 221B Baker Street."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do.

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"No you…Whatever, fine!"

**Step 7: Acquire a ****Roommate**

"Step seven: Acquire a roommate." Will glanced at Horace. "Horace, you live with me now."

"I don't think Cassandra will like that..."

**Step 8: Creep Roommate out with deductions**

"Step eight: Creep roommate out with deductions."

"Can you even do deductions?" Horace asked. They were both sitting in Will's cabin. In fact, neither had left in the five seconds since becoming roommates, which was something, at least.

Will opened his mouth to respond with something clever, then closed it. He _didn't_ actually know how to do deductions, which bothered him for some reason.

**Step 9: Take a Taxi to a Crime Scene**

"Step nine: Take a taxi to a crime scene."

"What's a taxi?"

**Step 10: Deduce EVERYTHING**

"Step ten: Deduce everything." Will read. The two had left the cabin in search of a crime scene, which was proving to be a futile quest. They hadn't run across anything resembling a crime scene, other than a snake that Will insisted was 'asking to be shot at,' but Horace said 'was just minding it's own business, Will!'

"Do you ever wonder about the order that book is in? I mean, does it think that by telling you to deduce things over and over, you'll eventually learn?"

Will glared at Horace.

"All I'm saying is that, if it does, it's not very smart."

"It's a _BOOK_!" Will said in a very frustrated manner.

Horace stared at Will.

Will stared at Horace.

Horace rolled his eyes and walked back to the cabin, being careful to avoid the snake carcass when he came across it.

**Step 11: Prove Roommate's Limp is Psychosomatic**

"Step eleven: Prove roommate's limp is pi...syk..omatic." Will said, stumbling over the word.

Horace stared at Will.

"Horace, your limp is pisykomatic." Will said.

Horace face-palmed and muttered a comment about stupid rangers who can't read.

**Step 12: Withhold Evidence**

"Step twelve: Withhold evidence." Will thought for a moment.

"Don't we need to _have_ evidence in order to withhold it?" Horace asked.

**Step 13: Get Caught Withholding Evidence**

"Step thirteen: Get caught withholding evidence."

Horace sighed. "When did this become my life?"

**Step 14: DON'T GET IN THE TAXI**

"Step fourteen: Don't get in the taxi." He looked at Horace. "Except it's in caps lock mode."

"Didn't the book _just_ tell you to get in a taxi?"

**Step** **15: Introduce Roommate to Brother**

"Step fifteen: Introduce roommate to brother." Will raised one eyebrow at Horace. "Well...Horace...You are my brother, Horace.

Horace face-palmed.

**Step 16: Get Chinese Food.**

"Step sixteen: Get Chinese food." Will looked questioningly at Horace.

"Why do you automatically think _I_ know what it is?"

**Step 17: SOLVE THE CASE!**

"Step seventeen: Solve the case." Will frowned. "Well, we never got a case so..."

"This book _really_ isn't very helpful, is it?"

**Step 18: Be Bored**

"Step eighteen: Be bored."

"But how can you be bored when _this_ is your life?" Horace said. Sarcastically.

**Step 19: Shoot the Wall**

"Step nineteen: Shoot the wall." Will started stringing his bow."

"Do _not_ shoot the wall, Will!"

Will snickered at the alliteration and continued stringing his bow. It took him less than a minute to finish.

Horace rolled his eyes as Will picked up an arrow.

**Step 20: Tell Roommate You Don't Like His Blog.**

"Step twenty: Tell roommate you don't like his blog. Horace, I don't like your blog."

"I don't care."


	3. The Game is On

**Hello! First real chapter right here! Right now! Happening! Of course, by the time you read this, it will no longer be happening it will have already happened, but...Still!**

**Step 21 is quite a bit different from steps 1-20, mainly because suddenly...Nevermind. Spoilers.**

**Um...I still haven't seen Frozen, and nearly all of my friends have so. I hate being the one person left out. Like Attack on Titan. Seriously that is all 4/5 of my friends want to talk about and I haven't seen it yet and...Argh!**

**And...What else? I dunno. I read a really good Harry Potter/Avengers crossover called Ink Stains hat I am 90% sure is in my favorites if you're interested. You don't really even have to have seen The Avengers to read it (I haven't seen all of it so.). It's just really good. And sad. And the writer is seriously fifteen THAT'S ONLY A YEAR OLDER THAN ME AND SHE'S SO GOOD! Much better than I am, but I don't generally write too much serious stuff. What serious stuff I do write isn't close to as good as this story so.  
><strong>

**Advertising that I'm not getting paid for aside, uh...This was a pointless author's note. I bet none of you read it because it's so pointless.**

**Oh well.**

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><p><strong>Step 21: The Game is On<strong>

"Step twenty-one: The game is on…" Will raised one eyebrow at the book. "That's more of a statement than a direction." Then he felt a vibration in his pocket. "What the…?" Further investigation (reaching into his pocket and pulling out the object) led him to the conclusion that the vibrations were coming from a distinctly odd black box that Will was almost completely certain he'd never seen before.

The box was relatively flat (about half an inch thick). One side of it was completely black, the sides were silver-ish, and the other side was partially black and partially glowy. It was a very curious item indeed.

Adding to the mysteriousness of the box was the message written on the glowy side: _There has been a fourth murder. That's why Crowley is here. He needs you to help solve the case. _The mystery of the item only grew.

"Okay, theory…" Will thought for a moment. "I have no idea how to explain this thing. Or what it is. Or why it's telling me things that are not true. There haven't been _any_ murders, and Crowley obviously isn't here, he's in—"

There was a knock at the door.

Will stared at the door for a few seconds, with wide eyes. He looked at the box-message. He looked at the door.

There was another knock.

Will opened the door, torn between how_ cool_ it would be if it was Crowley and not particularly wanting four people to be dead.

It was Crowley.

"Where?" Will said because he thought it would sound cool.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." Crowley said.

The box vibrated again in Will's hand. There was another message on the glowy side: _Crowley wouldn't have come if there wasn't something different about this murder. _Okay. Thanks, strange box.

"What was different about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"…Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

"Of course!" Will realized a bit late how his excitement must have sounded in context, but seriously, _he _had_ a case!_

"Thank you." Crowley said.

Will waited until Crowley left before totally freaking out. "I've got a case! Oh my gosh, I've got a case! Oh my gosh! Horace, isn't it _great_?"

"Considering that someone's dead, _no_.

"Don't be a spoilsport." Will said.

"Don't you think it's a little odd that we haven't _heard_ anything about any murders?"

"No." Will said as he grabbed his cloak.

Horace rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot."

Will stuck his tongue out at Horace as he put his cloak on. He walked to the door, and turned back. "Coming?"

Horace sighed. "Someone has to make sure you don't ruin the _actual_ investigation."

They stepped out of the cabin into a world considerably different than it had been when they went inside.

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><p>Will stared open-mouthed around him at the buildings, the roads, the people, the <em>complete lack of any trees at all.<em>

"Will?" Horace said. "Will, are you okay?"

Will blinked at all the activity around him. All of this couldn't have happened in a year, let alone an hour. He turned around and looked at his cabin, which was _gone_.

Will made a distraught noise in the back of his throat. There wasn't a cabin anymore. There was just a door, flanked by other doors. He recognized the door that was supposed to be his, though. 221B. Obviously.

"Will, are you okay?" Horace repeated because _apparently_ he was completely oblivious to the fact that the entire forest had turned into…Will didn't even know. Most of the buildings (_Were_ they buildings?) were hundreds of feet taller than any buildings Will had ever seen. Even Castle Araluen was nowhere near as tall as some of these buildings. And the roads were made of a very solid, hard material. And there were no horses on the road, only…Will supposed they were carriages, but…Where were the horses?

The box vibrated. _Calm down._ Easy for the box to say. It didn't have its entire world suddenly changed.

Will took a deep breath. Okay, calm calm calm. He turned to Horace. "So we need to get to Brixton. How should we do that?"

"…Hail a taxi?" Horace said confusedly.

"Okay, fine! Do that!" Will said. How the heck did _Horace_ know about this world while Will was clueless?

Horace rolled his eyes and limped to the road, then—Wait, Horace didn't have a limp! But apparently he did. He even had a cane! That made it official!

"Horace, why are you limping, you don't have a limp!" Will said.

Horace ignored him, and climbed into the carriage that had stopped.

Will noticed Horace giving him some rather strange looks while in the 'taxi'. He didn't know why. I mean, it wasn't as if he was behaving oddly. If anything, Horace was the one behaving oddly! Still…

"Okay, you've got questions." Will said so Horace could ask about whatever he thought Will was doing strangely.

"Yeah, where are we going?" Horace asked. Okay, Will was hoping for better, but maybe Horace had forgotten that he had _just told_ the driver to go to Brixton.

"The crime scene! Anything else?"

"Who are you? What do you do?"

Will looked at Horace, one eyebrow raised. "What do you _think_?" Before he could say anything else, the phone buzzed. _Assume for the moment that you didn't grow up with Horace and you only just met. Also, you're not a Ranger anymore. You're a consulting detective._ Will stared at the message for a moment before he realized that Horace was speaking.

"I'd say private detective..."

Long hesitation, and then those audible ellipses afterwards? What was _that _supposed to mean? "But…?"

"But the police don't go to private detectives."

"I'm a consulting detective." Will really, really wanted to put an _apparently_ at the front of that sentence, but _apparently_ Horace had only just met him, and that would sound weird.

"What does that mean?" Horace asked.

Will had no idea what it meant. Luckily, the box vibrated. _It means that when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult you._ Will repeated the sentence to Horace, except he replaced _you_ with _me_. Obviously.

"The police don't consult amateurs." Will realized suddenly that Horace's accent was different. Well, that was a disturbing revelation. Wait, his own accent wasn't different, was it? He was about to ask Horace when the box buzzed. _Assume that you met for the first time yesterday, and the first thing you said was 'Afghanistan or Iraq'. Those are both countries that wars were fought in, by the way. Explain to him how you knew he'd been fighting in one of those wars. _Will stared at the box. It couldn't really expect him to know that!

"Uh…Yesterday when I met you for the first time, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?'" Will started, hoping

"Yes, how did you know?"

Will opened his mouth, closed it, panicked for a few seconds about what he was supposed to freaking say and then the box vibrated and he relaxed. _Never mind. Haircut, way he holds himself says military. You met at St. Bart's, which is a hospital. When he came in, he said, 'Bit different from my day.' So, trained at Bart's. Army doctor. His face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists. He's been abroad, but not sunbathing. His limp is really bad when he stands, but he doesn't ask for a chair when he stands, like he's forgotten about it, so it's at least partially psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan—Afghanistan or Iraq._

Will reads out these words to Horace, adding in bits here and there to make it sound more deduction-ey.

"You said I have a therapist." Horace said.

Really? Will didn't remember saying that, probably because he didn't remember meeting Horace at all! "You've got a psychosomatic limp; of course you have a therapist!" The phone vibrated again. _Don't forget to mention his brother. _Brother? Really? Maybe he would forget to mention it if the box didn't tell him how he was supposed to know about the brother!

"Then there's your brother." He said. He'd just wing it if the box wouldn't help.

"Hmm?" Horace said.

The box buzzed again. _His phone. You can figure it out, it's all in his phone. _Oh, so now the box was his deduction coach? Will didn't even know what a phone _was_.

Oh well. Will held his hand out. "Your phone."

Horace handed him a box, sort of like the black one, except thicker and silver and somehow not as cool. Will turned it over in his hands a few times. It had quite a few scratches, as well as an engraving on the back.

Harry Watson  
>From Clara<br>XXX

Will had no idea what he was supposed to make of the item. His own box—phone, he guessed—vibrated again. _Okay, hints: It's an expensive phone, but Horace was looking for a flatshare—that's wy you met at St. Bart's yesterday, by the way—and he wouldn't waste money on an expensive phone. A gift, then.  
>Scratches. Not one, but many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. Horace wouldn't treat his one luxury item like that, so it's had a previous owner. Next part's yours, but it's easy.<br>A bit of help: Horace's surname is Watson. Also, it's a young man's gadget, so not a father. Not a cousin either—war hero without a place to live, probably no extended family. And that phone only came out six months ago. Expensive phone, too._

Will repeated the paragraph all the way to _previous owner_. "Next part's easy, you know it already." He said to himself, but Horace heard.

"The engraving." He said.

"Harry Watson." Will said. "Clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Not a cousin either; you're a war hero without a place to stay. Unlikely you have any extended family, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara?" Will was silent for a moment, thinking it over in his head. After a few moments, he proceeded, though much slower than before. "Three kisses says a romantic attachment. It's an expensive phone so wife, not girlfriend. The model is only six months old, so she's given it to him recently." Will stopped again, thinking. "Their marriage must be in trouble, then. Six months on he's just given it away. If he'd left him, he'd have kept it because sentiment. But he wanted to get rid of it. He left her." Will was silent for another moment. "You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help. That says you've got problems with him." That was all Will thought anyone could possibly get out of the phone, but his vibrated again. _Maybe Horace liked his wife. Maybe he didn't like his drinking._

Obediently, Will repeated the sentence.

"How can you _possibly_ know about the drinking?"

Will didn't know how he could possibly know about the drinking, and the phone wasn't buzzing. Lovely. He turned the phone over in his hands for a few moments, thinking about drinking and phones and how he had _no idea_ how they worked. "Shot in the dark—good one, though." The phone vibrated, and Will smiled. _Tiny scuff marks around the edge of the power connection. Every night he goes to plug in his phone, but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them._

Will handed the phone back. "Hey, you were right." He said, unable to resist.

"_I _was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs." Will said, grinning.

"That was…amazing." Horace said.

"Do you think so?" Will said.

"Of _course_ it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."

Which caused Will to grin once again.

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><p><strong>Also, if I used the word phone before Will learns what a phone is, I'm sorry. I didn't proofread this story before I posted it because darnit, it took me like SIX HOURS to write! I don't know why I'm so hyper. Writing author's notes make s me hyper. This story makes me hyper. The song I'm listening to makes me hyper.<strong>

**No, actually, none of those things. But. Oh well.**

**I'm sick, I shouldn't be this hyper!**


	4. Crime Scene Fashion

**So second chapter here, in which we almost not quite get to the crime scene. Almost. Not quite because I wanted to get this up tonight and it's almost nine o' clock and I still have like an entire comic book to write, illustrate, and color before the 19****th****. Just kidding, I'm almost done with the writing and drawing. Not the coloring, though. I hate coloring. I have like 1/12 of the thing actually colored. So..Yeah. That's my English project, by the way. In case you were wondering why I need to do an entire comic book.**

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><p>When the two got out of the taxi at Lauriston Gardens, Will couldn't help asking, "Did I get anything wrong?"<p>

Horace was silent for a moment. "Harry and me don't get on, never have." He said. Will didn't find this hard to believe, as an hour ago Horace didn't even _have_ a brother. "Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce. And Harry is a drinker."

"Really? I wasn't expecting to be right about _everything_." Actually, Will hadn't exactly been expecting to be right about anything, but Horace's reaction had given him a bit of faith that _some_ things had been somewhat correct.

"And Harry's short for Harriet." Horace added.

Will stopped dead in his tracks. "Harry's your _sister_?" He said, completely shocked, and somewhat rightly so. After all, it wasn't particularly often that Harriets and Claras got married back in Araluen. Will wasn't even sure it was legal. It sounded a bit like a Skandian-type thing, though. Wait, that was racist.

Horace kept walking. "Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

"_Sister_!" Will said to himself, still stunned.

Horace looked back at Sherlock. "No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

Will started walking again, though slowly. "_Sister_!"

They approached what both assumed to be the crime scene; it was a tall building (Actually, they all were tall buildings. This wasn't even close to the tallest.) surrounded by flashy lights and bright yellow tape that clearly said, 'CRIME SCENE'. It wasn't a difficult guess.

A woman standing by the tape scowled when she saw Will. "Hello, freak," she said.

_Wow, rude. _Will thought, but he couldn't just _say_ that; it would make _him_ seem rude. "Um…I'm here to see Crowley."

"Why?"

"I was invited." Will said quickly. This woman was making him very uncomfortable and…Really, were people normally this rude and he just didn't notice? Or was this lady just especially rude? Or—

"_Why?_" The woman repeated.

"Uh…I think Crowley wants me to look at the crime scene." Will said, a little bolder this time, because seriously, rude people were annoying.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?" The woman said. Will really didn't know what she thought. Probably something rude. Or—wait…Nope, Will had no idea. The woman didn't look like she was going to let them cross though, and Will really didn't want to make a scene.

The phone vibrated. Ignore her. _Just go ahead and cross, she won't do anything. After all, you know that she didn't make it home last night. _Will wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but he decided to trust the phone. After all, it hadn't been wrong before.

He lifted up the yellow tape and ducked under. Horace started to follow, but the woman stopped him. "Er, who's this?"

"Um…Colleague of mine, Doctor...Watson." It didn't exactly feel right to call _this_ Horace a friend. Actually, according to the phone, they weren't friends. They weren't even colleagues; actually, they'd only met yesterday! Also, what the heck was up with him being a doctor? And since when was his surname Watson?

The woman scoffed. "A colleague? How do _you_ get a colleague?" She turned to Horace. "What, did he follow you home?"

Horace looked uncomfortable, which wasn't surprising considering how rude this woman was for _no reason_. "Would it be better if I just waited and…"

Will didn't let him finish, lifting up the yellow tape for him to duck under. "Nope."

The woman lifted a boxy item to her mouth. "Freak's here. Bringing him in." She led them toward the tall building. As they approached the building, a man dressed in a frankly ridiculous light blue coverall came out of the house and approached Will with a look of open hostility on his face. Did _everyone_ here dislike Will for no reason?

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" The man said.

"Um…Yes. May I go in?" Will said, unable to figure out why these people hating him and realizing that he couldn't actually bring himself to care. They were obviously both working on the case, and the fact that Crowley had still needed Will to come take a look…

The man actually looked like he was going to say no, but Will pushed past him before he could. Horace followed after a brief hesitation.

Crowley was inside, putting on another of the ridiculous blue coveralls. So…Were they like crime scene apparel? Was it the style to wear ridiculous blue coveralls at crime scenes? That was the only reason Will could think of for anyone ever wearing one of those, so he gestured toward a pile of similar items and said to Horace, "You'll need one of these."

Crowley looked at Horace. "Who's this?" Will sort of closed his eyes. Crowley and Horace _knew_ each other. They'd fought in _wars_ together! They were _neighbors_! For some reason, the fact that they didn't know each other annoyed Will.

"He's with me." Will said, a bit irritably, but he was the only one who could tell.

"Yeah, but who is he?"

"I _said_ he's with me." The irritableness was a bit more audible that time, but not much.

Will looked at the pile of coveralls and quickly decided that he was not wearing one those. Ever. He didn't need to be trendy if the style was that hideous. Instead, he picked up a pair of white rubber gloves. Much less ridiculous.

Horace had taken his jacket off and picked up a coverall. He looked at Will. "Aren't you going to put one on?"

Will just looked at Horace. Shaking his head, Horace put on his own coverall.

Will looked at Crowley. "So where's the body?"

Crowley picked up another pair of white gloves because he's a copycat who doesn't know style and has to rely on the fashion decisions of others. "Upstairs."

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><p><strong>So you should leave a review on your way out because I love reviews. I like it when my email app has that little red circle in the one corner with a huge number in it, like 10 and...Well, usually they aren't all for reviews but SOMETIMES that happens and it's seriously the best thing ever. So. I know you're busy, but if you'd just be like, "Hey. I like your story." I would be fine with that. You don't even have to capitalize that. You don't even have to log in, I have guest reviews enabled. Also, you will pretty much instantly join my list of people I like. Yeah.<strong>


	5. PINK!

**Three updates in three days…I love this story. And hate it, because I can't help but assume Will knows stuff about the modern world that he shouldn't. If you catch something like that…Sorry. I ran down my computer's entire battery writing this chapter. It seriously took like two hours. And it's pretty dang long for me, if you hadn't noticed. Most of my one-shot stories are nowhere near this long.**

**Also, Jeff Strand is an awesome author if any of you want to check him out. He's got a fairly demented sense of humor, but he's still HILARIOUS. Absolutely hilarious. I recommend reading **_**A Bad Day for Voodoo**_**, which is very awesome. **

**Author's note over.**

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><p>Crowley led the two up a circular staircase. "I can give you two minutes." He said.<p>

Two minutes? That was like, no time at all! "I might need longer." Will said.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Crowley explained as they entered a room empty of any useful furniture.

Will instantly noticed the woman lying on the floor. It was a bit difficult not to, she was so…_pink_. He stepped towards the corpse, and noticed that scratched into the floor was the word "Rache". The woman's index and middle fingernails were broken and ragged. They were quite ugly, compared to the immaculately manicured others.

The phone vibrated. _She's in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes. Something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. Obvious, from the size of her suitcase. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married. Her ring is ten years old, at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage, right there. The inside of her ring is shinier than the outside-that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather _who_ does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple._

Will investigated the things mentioned in the message. Sure enough, her jewelry was all shiny, except for her wedding ring. The inside of her wedding ring was shinier than the outside. It all fit.

"Got anything?" Crowley called from behind him.

"Not much." Will responded, taking out the phone as it buzzed once more. He didn't get to fully read the message, though, as the rude man interrupted from the doorway.

"She's German. 'Rache': It's German for 'revenge'. She could be trying to tell us something." He said.

"Yes, thank you for your input." Will said, slamming the door in his face. Now, back the phone, which actually had _correct_ information.

"So she's German?" Crowley asked.

Will made an annoyed sound. "Of course not," he said. As he read the second message, he added, "She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night…" He quickly read through the rest of the message. "…Before returning home to Cardiff." Will put the phone back in his pocket. "So far, so obvious." He said.

"Sorry—Obvious?" Horace said. He _had_ always been rather slow.

"What about the message, though?" Crowley asked.

Will ignored him, instead turning to Horace. "_Doctor_ _Watson_, what do you think?" The emphasis on his name was very necessary. People shouldn't just change titles and names all at once like that! Wait, girls did that when they got married. Still! Guys didn't and Will was pretty sure that Horace hadn't gotten married!

"Of the message?" Horace asked, responding to Will's question.

"Of the body. You're a _doctor_." Will had to actively restrain himself from adding 'apparently' at the end of the sentence.

"Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside." Crowley said.

Will was about 90% certain that Crowley's entire team would be just as rude as the two he'd already met. "They won't work with me."

"I'm breaking every rule letting _you_ in here."

Will raised one eyebrow at Crowley. "Because you need me."

Crowley stared at Will for a moment before lowering his gaze helplessly. "Yes, I do. God help me."

Will's attention went back to Horace. "Doctor Watson."

"Hm?" Horace said, looking up from the body. He looked first at Will, then at Crowley, silently seeking permission. Will thought this was a little annoying, but whatever.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself." Crowley said, before opening the door and leaving. Will heard his voice outside, "Anderson, keep everyone out for a few minutes." He also thought he heard the rude man's voice protesting, but he could have imagined it.

Will and Horace walked over to the body. Well, Will walked. Horace limped because _apparently_ he was a cripple, which didn't make _any_ sense at all! Will squatted down on one side of the body. Horace painfully lowered himself down on one knee on the other side.

"Well?" Will prompted.

"What am I doing here?" Horace said softly.

"Helping me make a point." Will actually had no idea what point he was trying to make. It just seemed like the thing to say.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yeah, but this is more fun."

Horace tried to raise one eyebrow at Will, but he failed. Will still thought this was hilarious, but he didn't laugh. "Fun? There's a woman lying dead."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

Crowley re-entered the room as Horace started doing some medical-ey stuff that _apparently_ he learned at _med school_ where he _apparently_ became a _doctor_ and then _apparently _went to _war_ and then _apparently_—Wait, real Horace went to war too so that last one didn't make sense.

"Yeah, asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure, probably drugs." Horace eventually said.

Will internally rolled his eyes. _That_ was all Horace could come up with? What kind of school did he go to? "Come on, you know what it was." Will desperately hoped so; otherwise he'd have to just ignore the fact that Horace was a very talentless doctor.

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth…?" Oh. Or he might know because serial killer. Word spread about things like that. But, wait, suicide? What? You can't have serial-OH! Suddenly, Will understood why Crowley needed him. Yes, it was a grand puzzle. He wasn't entirely sure his deductions would help him figure it out, though maybe something in the—

"Will—Two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got." Right. The time limit thing. Okay.

Will stood up. Horace struggled painfully to his feet with the assistance of his cane. "Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person working in media, going by her clothes and the rather alarming shade of pink. She travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night, going by the size of her suitcase."

"Suitcase?" Crowley said.

"Suitcase, yes." Will took out the phone again, not wanting to miss anything. "She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers, but none of them knew she was married.

"Oh, for god's sake, if you're just making this up…" Crowley said. Maybe his people got being rude from him.

Will pointed at the woman's hand. "Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not the wedding ring. State of her marriage, right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside—that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what, or _who_, is she removing her rings for? Not one lover, she'd never maintain the fiction of being single for that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"That's brilliant." Horace said admiringly. Will looked at him. "Sorry." He added.

"Cardiff?" Crowley said.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Will said, still hoping they wouldn't question it. The phone hadn't told him about Cardiff, and he didn't know what say if they questioned that.

"It's not obvious to me." Horace said.

Will sighed. He _would_ have to explain. Somehow.

He turned back to the body, hoping to buy some time, and the phone vibrated. Thank goodness. He looked at the message, reading it aloud, trying to sound like he was coming up with it on his own. _Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London at that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind—too strong for her to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance, but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and string wind within that radius of travel? _The message concluded with a picture. A weather forecast for the southern part of Britain, which Will assumed Cardiff was in. He turned around and showed it to Horace and Crowley. "Cardiff." He finished.

"That's fantastic!" Horace said.

Will turned to Horace. "Do you know you do that out loud?" He said in a low voice.

"Sorry, I'll shut up."

"No, it's…fine."

Crowley had to voice his only concern with the amazing deductions he'd witnessed: "Why do you keep saying suitcase?"

Will spun in a circle, looking around the room. "Yes, where is it? She must have had a bo—phone!" Will stopped himself from saying box just in time, but he still got a couple of strange looks from the entire couple of people in the room. He cleared his throat rather awkwardly. "Find out who Rachel is!"

"She was writing 'Rachel'?" Crowley asked.

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German!" Will said very sarcastically. The air was almost shattered by the force of Will's sarcasm. "Of _course_ she was writing Rachel; no other word is spelled like that. Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How do you know she had a suitcase?" Crowley asked. Will inwardly rolled his eyes and wished that Crowley would stop asking things. Will honestly did not know how he knew she had a suitcase, and he didn't want to ruin this great moment by not knowing something.

Luckily, the phone vibrated. Back of the right leg: _Tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious; could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was only staying one night._

Will repeated this to Crowley, occasionally acting out a movement. When he finished, he squatted down next to the body and looked at the backs of her legs. The splash marks were there. "Now where is the case? What have you done with it?"

"There wasn't a case." Crowley said.

Slowly, Will looked up at Crowley. "_What?_"

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

Will straightened up and hurried out the door. He started down the stairs, calling out to all the officers, "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

Crowley called down the stairs, "Will, there was no case!"

Will kept going down the stairs, his mind racing. Serial suicides. Suddenly, the phone vibrated. Will read it quickly and instantly understood. "There are clear signs, even you lot can't miss them."

"Right, yeah, _thanks_. _And…_?"

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're _not_ suicides, they're killings. _Serial_ killings. We've got ourselves a serial killer."

"Why are you saying that?"

"Her case! Where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case with them." Will yelled. To himself, he added, "Must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there" Horace added.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Her hair! Look at her hair. She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never leave with her hair still looking…" Will trailed off as he came to a realization. It was made even better from the fact that there was no help from the phone at all. It was just himself and his impeccable fashion sense. "Oh. Oh!" Will clapped his hands in delight.

"Will?" John called."

"What is it, what?" Crowley said leaning over the railing.

Will smiled. "Serial killers…You have to wait for them to make a mistake."

"We can't just wait!" Crowley said.

"Oh, we are _done_ waiting!" Will said, starting to hurry down the stairs again. "Look at her, really _look_! We _have_ a mistake! Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" Will reached the bottom of the stairs and started running towards the door.

"Of course, yeah-but_ what_ mistake?!" Crowley yelled.

Of course. They didn't have fashion skills as great as Will's. They wouldn't understand. He ran back to the staircase and ran up a couple of stairs so Crowley could see him. "_PINK!_" Will hurried off again, leaving Crowley baffled by that single, rather cryptic word.

* * *

><p><strong>Ugh, bottom author's note. Hi again. I'm thinking about not even posting this tonight. I'm going to though because WHY NOT? It's not like I don't have anything else to be doing. Like reading by new Jeff Stradn book that I just got today or working on my comic book or ANYTHING ELSE.<strong>

**Ugh, I'm so tired. I should just sleep instead of any of that.**


	6. Will Holmes

**Yay! Updates! **

**This is seriously like my favorite story that I'm currently working on. Also, NTSFroes pointed out that Will still probably doesn't know what a car is yet, so how could he figure out that the case was in the murderer's car? I...really can't do anything about this because I don't change stories once they're posted because...I mean they're like memories of what I was like when I posted them, and changing little issues like spelling errors are a gateway to revising entire stories. As much as I would like to go back into my earlier stories and fix my spelling of 'review', I'm not going to do that. SO...Let's just assume that Will is a bit quicker on the uptake than some people think he is. Okay. Good plan.**

**Also, it was pointed out that at one point I accidentally wrote 'John' instead of 'Horace'. That is...ignore that. It was a mistake, I'm writing this story from a transcript, it was bound to happen eventually!**

* * *

><p>Will hurried out of the building and got a quite a ways down the street before he realized that he had no idea where he was going. He looked at the phone—nothing. Okay. Well, if the phone wouldn't help him…He had no idea what to do.<p>

Wait! Will pulled out the book and turned to the page he was on. "Step twenty-two: Find the case." Wow. Okay. That was really helpful. Seriously, though, all Will knew about the case was that it was small and very pink. Also that it was at some point in the murderer's car. Lovely. So…Where was it?

Then the phone buzzed. _Check every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens. _

Right. That _really_ narrowed it down. Actually—it really _did_ narrow it down. After all, how many back streets could there be within five minutes of this building?

Half an hour later, Will returned to what had previously been his cabin, but was now a very strange looking building, successfully holding a very bright pink suitcase.

He walked inside and halted. Okay—the inside of his house looked totally different now too. There was a…Flight of stairs that he didn't recognize, a bunch of décor that he didn't recognize. Okay. Weird. Very, very weird. Of course, what about this day wasn't very, very weird?

Despite the fact that this was apparently his house, Will had no idea where anything was or where he should go with this case. Luckily, the phone buzzed. _Just go up the stairs. _Okay. Up the stairs.

Will ascended the staircase and found himself in a rather messy room that looked a little familiar to him, a fact that he found very disturbing. Oh well.

He placed the case on a table and sat on the couch. He opened the case and started looking through the case, trying not to feel creepy about looking through a lady's clothes. But that's what there was, along with a wash bag and a paperback novel. But that was all.

The phone buzzed. _Do you see what's missing?_

What kind of message was _that_? Come on, a _question_? _Really? _No, Will didn't know what the case was missing, but he could hardly tell the phone that now, could he? Well—could he? Maybe that was how you communicated with the thing. By talking to it. He was about to try his theory when it buzzed again. _Of course you don't. Her phone. Where is her phone?_

That was a good question. Where _was_ her phone? Maybe she just left it at her house. Why did she have to bring it with her?

The phone buzzed. _She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She _never_ leaves her phone at home._

Oh. Yeah, that made sense. So…If it wasn't on the body and it wasn't in the case, then…The murderer had it. But how did that help? The phone didn't buzz again so Will checked the book. "Step twenty-three: Text the murderer." What was a text? It had to do with phones, so…The phone buzzed again. _This is a text. You can send them form this phone, as well as receive them. _Okay, so…How?

The phone was silent. Okay. Fine. Will would figure it out on his own. He spent a few minutes tapping on every inch of the light part of his phone. Then, despite his total lack of any knowledge whatsoever, he figured out how to do it.

Will felt a surge of triumph at this revelation. So now he just had to send a text to the other phone—but he needed something called a phone number. What was the pink lady's phone number? Maybe Horace would know—His 'phone number' was already on the phone.

Okay, so…He didn't want to freak Horace out by asking for the dead lady's phone number so…

_Come to baker street at once if convenient._

_Will Treaty_

Will looked at the 'text' with dissatisfaction. The lack of proper capitalization bothered him. And the signature felt awkward. He continued tapping around his phone experimenting until he came up with a more acceptable message:

_Baker Street  
>Come at once if convenient.<br>WT_

Much better. But—Okay, if the entire world was changing, then Will could change as well. He amended the message:

_Baker Street  
>Come at once if convenient.<br>WH_

Will Holmes. Maybe William would work better, but Will didn't want to change his first name too, even if it was only adding another syllable. After all, his last name was given to him when he was a ranger, but he wasn't a ranger now, was he? He was something called a consulting detective and a job like that…Well, he have a last name for that too, couldn't he?

He sent the message. He waited for a few minutes. Horace didn't answer.

He sent another message:

_If inconvenient, come anyway  
>WH<em>

Okay, so maybe that would get a response from him. Will laid down on the couch and waited for a few more minutes, before deciding that he should probably repack the case. So he did that. He lay back on the couch again. Then his phone buzzed. A phone number. _The_ phone number. Great, now he could text the murderer!

Before he could send the text, though, he got another message. _Wait. Your number might be recognized. Besides, you don't know what kind of message to send. _Oh. Yeah, there _was_ that. But—Okay, so if he couldn't send the message, how was he supposed to text the murderer?

The phone buzzed again. _ Have Horace send the message. Here's a hint for getting him back there: He likes danger._

Okay. Finally Horace _Watson_ was acting like Horace Altman.

_Could be dangerous  
>WH<em>

If the phone was right, that would bring Horace. Will settled down on the couch and waited.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope no one really cares a lot about Will's previous last name. There's a reason for my madness and I just...I promise it's not just so that Will can have almost the same name as Sherlock ( William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Will Holmes. They sound like they're same person!) I seriously have a plan and I'm not just flailing about in the dark. Mainly.<strong>

**I can't wait until I finish this episode and then-And then I'll have to write the Blind Banker...Ugh. But _then_ I can write The Great Game! Yay! 'Citement!**


	7. Allies

**So here we have yet another chapter of this particular story about Will figuring out how to be Sherlock Holmes. According to the transcript I'm using to help me with this (ArianeDevere's on livejournal), I'm about hlafway through this episode. Which is pretty freaking awesome. It also causes me to realize that I really need to figure out who Halt is going to bebecause I can't just leave him out but...I seriously can't think of anything. So...If you have a brilliant idea for who Halt's character should be...Tell me? Please? Also, note that I already know who's going to be Mycroft and who's going to be Moriarty. So. Don't recommend he be one of those. **

* * *

><p>When Horace came in, Will was <em>definitely<em> not asleep on the couch. He was just resting. How could he have been asleep when he was awake as soon as Horace spoke?

"Well?" Horace said.

Will opened his eyes—_not_ drowsily—and then closed them again—_not_ to go back to sleep.

"You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."

Will's eyes snapped open. The case—yes. He needed Horace to text the murderer. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"My phone?"

"I can't use mine; they might recognize the number." Will responded, still lying on the couch. He knew he should get up, but the couch was _really_ comfortable.

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone." Horace said.

Who was Mrs. Hudson? "Mrs. Hudson?" Will asked before it actually registered with him that maybe he should know who Mrs. Hudson is.

"The landlady…She's downstairs."

"Oh. Right. Well, I…tried shouting, but she didn't…hear me." Will stumbled through the sentence, trying to cover up his blunder.

"I was on the other side of London." Horace said, starting to get angry.

London? Where's London? They were in Araluen. Of course, a lot of things had changed so far…Why not the name of the place they were? Will shrugged, which was only a little difficult laying on a couch. "Sorry, but there wasn't really a hurry."

Horace glared at Will. Will stared at the ceiling, and eventually closed his eyes again. Seriously, what kind of witchcraft _was_ this couch? After a few seconds, Horace reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He held it out towards Will. "Here."

Will extended his right hand toward Horace without opening his eyes. Horace glared at him for a moment before slapping the phone into his hand. Will closed his fingers around it and brought it up to his face, holding it between his hands, trying to figure out the unfamiliar box. It was no use; Will could only use his own phone.

"So what's this about—the case?" Horace asked after a few seconds.

"Yes, her case." Will said softly. Definitely not drowsily.

"_Her_ case?"

Will opened his eyes. "Her suitcase, yes. The murderer took it her suitcase." Will paused for a second. "First big mistake." Ooh, that sounded really detective-ey!

"Okay, so he took her case. So?"

Will held the phone back out to Horace. "On the table over there, there's a number. I want you to send a text."

Horace half-smiled in angry disbelief. Rude. "You brought me here…to send a text."

"Text, yes. The number is on that table."

After a few seconds spent with Will trying not to go back to sleep and Horace glowering at Will, Horace stomped across the room and snatched his phone from Will's hand. Instead of going to the table, though, Horace went to the window and looked out onto the street below. Will opened his eyes and looked at Horace, though he had to twist his neck a little awkwardly to do so. "What's wrong?" Why wasn't Horace sending the text? They could find the murderer that very evening!

"Just met a friend of yours."

"A _friend_?" Will asked hopefully. That he'd seen, nearly everyone in this place hated him for some reason. He had a _friend_?

"An enemy." Horace explained.

"Oh." Aw. Well…Aw. Still, it seemed like Will Holmes had a lot of enemies. "Which one?" He asked, only mildly sarcastically.

"Your arch-enemy, according to him." Horace turned towards Will. "Do people have arch-enemies?"

Will didn't really know the answer to that question. He had no idea who this man could possibly be or…But if he really hated Will that much…And he knew that Horace had just moved in with him…Maybe…But Horace was Will's friend! Still…

"Did he offer you money to spy on me?" Will asked.

"Yes." Horace replied.

"Did you take it?" Will asked.

"No." Horace said.

Will forced himself to remain calm on the outside, but was freaking out on the inside. Horace and him _were_ still friends! Even if Horace thought they had only met earlier today! But he had to remain calm on the outside. "Pity; we could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Will said jokingly.

"Who is he?" Horace asked.

_I don't know. _"The most dangerous man you have ever met." Good. Drama. But there was still the case. Haha, puns. "And also not my problem right now. On the table. The number."

Horace walked to the table and picked up what looked like a luggage label. He read the name on the tag. "Jennifer Wilson. That was…Hang on, wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number." Will said, a little impatiently.

Shaking his head, Horace got his phone out and started to type the number into it.

"Are you doing it?" Will asked from the couch.

"Yes." Horace said, rolling his eyes.

"Have you _done_ it?" Will said, a lot impatiently.

"Ye—Hang on!" Horace said.

Will's phone buzzed. He opened his eyes, and read out the message. "These words exactly: What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come."

Horace started typing, looking up a little concernedly at various parts in the narration. He got as far as:

What happened at Lauriston Gdns? I must have b

Before he had to make a comment about this message. "You blacked out?"

"What? No. No!" Will said. He flipped his legs off the couch and stood up, stepping over the coffee table on the shortest route to the kitchen. He didn't know why—it just felt natural. "Type it and send it. Quickly." He added to Horace.

Will picked up the pink suitcase and brought it back into the living room. He grabbed a dining room chair and set the suitcase on it before sitting in an armchair himself. "Have you sent it?" He asked Horace again.

"What's the address?" Horace asked.

Will rolled his eyes. "Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" Will unzipped the lid and looked at the items inside. Horace finished typing and turned around, before staggering slightly in shock when he realized what he was looking at.

"That's…that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case.

"Yes, obviously." Will said with a slight grin.

Horace continued to stare at Will and the case. Will looked at him and rolled his eyes. "_I _didn't kill her, you know."

"I never said you did." Horace responded.

"Why not?" Will asked. "Given the text you just sent and the fact that I have her case, it's a pretty logical assumption." _Actually, I'm a person from a different world where we're best friends and I'm not a consulting detective; I'm a ranger. And you're a knight. And we fight bad guys._

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

_No._ "Every now and then, yes." Will put his hands on the arms of the chair and lifted himself up so he was perched on the back of the chair, with his feet resting on the seat. It was really a very comfortable position.

"Okay…" Horace said, before limping across the room and dropping into the other armchair. "How did you get this?"

"…By looking."

"Where?"

Will was silent for a moment, trying to remember everything. "The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep the case by accident if she was in his car. No one could be seen with this case without drawing attention, so um…obviously he'd be compelled to get rid of it when he noticed he still had it. That wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes. So I checked every back street wide enough for a car within five minutes of Lauriston Gardens." Nailed it. "It took me less than an hour to find the right place."

"Pink. You got _all_ that because you realized the case would be pink."

"It _had_ to be pink, obviously." Fashion! Duh!

"Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you aren't stylish."

Horace looked at Will, a little startled.

"No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically no one is." Will gestured towards the case. "Now, look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case?" Horace asked, "How could I?"

"Her phone!" Will replied. "Where is her phone? There wasn't a phone on the body, there isn't a phone in the case. We know she had one; you just texted it.

"Maybe she left it at home." Horace put in.

_That's what I said. _"She has a string of lovers that she's careful about. She doesn't leave her phone at home." Will put the luggage tag back into the case and looked at John expectantly.

"Er…" Horace looked at his phone on the arm of his chair. "Why did I just send that text?"

"Well, the question is…Who has her phone _now_?"

"She could have lost it." Horace said.

"Yes, or…?" Will was grinning now.

"The murderer…You think the murderer has the phone?"

_YES!_ "Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the murderer has her phone!"

"Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer? What good will _that_ do?" Horace said, starting to freak out.

Then Horace's phone began to ring. On the light-part it said:

(withheld)  
>calling<p>

Horace looked at Will as the phone continued to ring.

"A few hours after his last victim and he gets a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found the phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer…" Will paused dramaticallyfor a moment, timing it perfectly with the phone ceasing to ring. "…Would panic." Will flipped the lid of the suitcase closed and stood up, walking across the room to grab his clo—coat. Come on, he'd only been asleep for a few minutes! It wasn't fair to take his cloak! It was his cloak…And now…Well, it was a pretty stylish coat. He put on the coat and walked towards the door.

Horace finally looked up. "Have you talked to the police?"

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police!" They could catch the murderer themselves. After all, Will was a Ranger and Horace was a knight (even if he didn't remember it).

"So why are you talking to _me_?"

Will simply raised one eyebrow at Horace. After a few seconds, Will spoke. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well you could just sit there..." Will replied.

"What, you want me to come with you?" Horace asked.

Of course Will wanted Horace with him! He needed at least one ally if they were going to chase down a murderer, and he hadn't seen Gilan or Halt anywhere. "I like company when I go out and..." Will stopped when he saw Horace half-smile. "Problem?"

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan."

Oh. The rude lady. "What about her?"

"She said...You get off on this. You enjoy it."

Will rolled his eyes, but his back was to Horace and he didn't see it. What was _wrong_ with everyone here? Why did everyone...Whatever. "And I said 'danger' and here you are." Will said, a little angrily, before turning and storming out of the door. Angrily. Of course, it's Will, so the anger really probably didn't get across to Horace.

A second later, he heard Horace say, "Damn it!" And the sound of him standing up and limping toward the door.

Will hoped Horace didn't always speak with that language; it could rub off on him.

* * *

><p><strong>I really want to name each of these episodes with my own little twist, I guess. I mean, I'm going to do it anyway, but I'm not sure I want to make them official. Like this one would be called, <em>A Study in Fashion<em>. Because...Fashion is a pretty major theme in it, like pink is in the actual episode so...Yeah...Anyone wanna give me feedback on that?**

**As always, review because it makes me gasp in happiness and it makes me update faster. Thank you for being here and goodnight!**


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